Vanilla and Aldesian Smoke
by Adriana DiVolpe
Summary: Doctor/Donna. Two-shot. - HET - 'No more Pan-Galactic Gargle Blasters.  And definitely no more Veluusian aphrodisiacs.'  Another of those 'accidentally-ingested alien aphrodisiac' stories, but with less smut.  Sequel 'Tea and Tortaalan Toast' is Chapter 2
1. Vanilla and Aldesian Smoke

**prompt:** patient

**word count:** 1660

**disclaimer:** The Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster is copyright Douglas Adams, as well as the as well as the entire line about the effect the drink has on the drinker.

* * *

**Vanilla and Aldesian Smoke**

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* * *

**He _had_ warned her against the Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster. He'd even been sure to mention the bit about drinking one being like having your brain smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped round a large gold brick.

They were nasty things, Pan-Galactic Gargle Blasters. The nastiest in the _universe_, to be precise. Or the best. Depended who you asked, really.

But Donna Noble... Well, she _hadn't_ asked, no—but he'd warned her anyway. Unsuccessfully, as it turned out.

He was surprised she was still conscious, to be honest. But that was Donna all over—full of surprises.

It shouldn't have made her act like this, though, he thought, as he twisted his head and her sloppy kiss landed somewhere along his jaw.

As she fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, he managed to free one of his hands and slip it into his pocket, fishing out his sonic screwdriver. Flicking it on, he gave her a quick bio-scan.

Ah. He'd thought something like this might have been the case. There were traces of a very powerful Veluusian aphrodisiac in her system. Someone must have slipped it to her; probably in her drink. The one he'd warned her _not_ to drink.

He was willing to bet it had been that slimy Ratagarian who'd had his eye on Donna (and who had been slimy _literally_, of course, because all Ratagarians _were_ physically—but also had been slimy metaphorically, in this particular situation, for having tried to take advantage of Donna).

She'd accepted his offer to buy her a drink, after he'd approached her with some line about how he knew she must be a goddess, because he'd always heard that the goddesses of Rynnerykker 4 were lovely, graceful, benevolent beings with hair that shone like the fires of the Yuiltan sun (which, as the Doctor knew, was a load of utter rubbish—Rynnerykker 4 was a completely patriarchal society whose religion didn't even _include_ goddesses—but he'd kept his mouth shut). No? Well she certainly was beautiful enough to pass for a goddess, and don't worry, he wouldn't tell anyone she wasn't.

She hadn't looked overly impressed with his opening line—she was too smart to fall for that, his Donna—but she'd said that yeah, he could buy her a drink, why not.

He should have stopped her drinking it. He should have put his foot down, no matter what she'd said about being a grown woman who could make her own decisions, and she wasn't some lightweight, anyway, thank you very much, she could handle one little drink.

So she'd drunk it, of course.

Ten minutes later she'd been running her hand up the Ratagarian's thigh and flicking her hair over her shoulder and leaning forward so her breasts brushed against the top of his arm and gave the Doctor a really very nice view of—

Aaand that was about the point the he'd thought it was time to go.

She'd moaned and carried on about the Doctor scaring off that good-looking green bloke, and insisted that no, she didn't want to head back to the TARDIS, what she _wanted _was a man, and oh, what about that one there, and why did _he_ always need to poke his nose in, anyway, while she was trying to get off with someone—until she'd apparently realised that the Doctor was, in fact, also a man.

She'd probably come to this conclusion about the same time that the Doctor was pulling the door of the TARDIS to behind them, because she'd wasted no time in pinning him up against the wooden surface with her warm body and attempting to grope every last bit of him she could reach.

Slipping the sonic back into his pocket, he grasped her clumsy hands and pulled them away from the front of his shirt. She'd only managed to undo three of the buttons, being so inebriated as she was.

"Come on, Donna, let's get you to bed, shall we?"

"Finally," she groaned as he wrapped an arm around her waist to urge her across the console room. "It's about bloody time."

He half-led, half-dragged her through the corridors to her bedroom. The trip took three times as long as it normally would have done, because she kept stopping to try and get him to kiss her, or to try and slip a hand down the front of his trousers.

When he got her to the bed she clambered onto it enthusiastically, leaning back on her elbows and looking up at him through lids hooded by desire. "Coming to bed, Spaceman?" Her voice was low and husky.

He swallowed, desperately trying to work out the best way to deal with this situation.

It was clear that she wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer. Even as he was standing there thinking, she was pushing herself up with the obvious intention of coming to him.

He thought furiously. There were sedatives in the medbay. That'd do the trick. He wouldn't bother giving her anything to counteract the aphrodisiac compound; it would wear off within a couple of hours. He'd just give her a sedative and she could sleep off the alcohol.

He began to back toward the door, and when she moaned her protest, he told her, "You just stay put; I'm gonna go grab something and then I'll be right back, all right, Donna?"

"Mm, all right, but hurry back," she conceded breathily, settling back and stretching herself out across the bed.

"I will," he assured her—completely untruthfully.

He took his time in retrieving the sedative, hoping that she'd pass out on her own while he was gone. But it was not to be; when he returned he found that she had not passed out, but _had_ managed to remove her shirt and one of the legs of her trousers—how she'd managed that without removing the other was beyond him.

"_Oh_, no, no, no! Donna!" He raced over and, setting the sedative on the bedside table, he stopped her unclasping her bra just in time.

Ooh, she'd _kill_ him in the morning if she woke up naked.

"Oh, _you_ wanted to under—undress me?" she asked playfully. "Sorry. I just thought it would save time."

Her trousers were in a curious and uncomfortable-looking jumble, and were not doing much of anything at the moment to serve their function and preserve their wearer's modesty, so he slid them off the rest of the way and set them on a nearby chair.

He held out the small plastic cup of the liquid sedative he'd brought from the medbay. He figured it would be easier to get her to drink something than to give her a pill, or to convince her to let him give her an injection. "Drink this, it'll make you feel better."

She snorted softly, tossing her head and running a hand down her neck, across the top of her chest. "Feel pretty good already, thanks."

"Donna," he said sternly, "it's medicine, and I need you to drink it."

Her lips curled in a sly smile. "Mhmm, I get you. 'Medicine'." She took the little cup and knocked it back with a wink at him. Swallowing, she banged the cup down on the bedside table. "What, you gonna be my _doctor_, Doctor?" She leaned forward on her hands, grasping his tie before he could stop her. "Am I your _patient_? Are you gonna _fix_ me up, _cure_ what _ails_ me?" Her breath was hot against his face and he realised she was going to try to kiss him again. He twisted sharply and instead of his mouth, her lips found his neck.

"Donna!" he yelped as she ran her tongue across his jugular. Her hair smelled of vanilla and Aldesian smoke.

Bracing one hand on her bare shoulder, he tried with the other to disentangle his tie from her surprisingly powerful grip.

The sedative he'd given her was the fastest-acting one that he had, but as her fingers brushed dangerously close to his groin, he couldn't help feeling that it wasn't fast enough. Her body was pressed against his and she was warm and soft and he could smell her arousal and her want and her need, her lips and tongue hot against his neck and her breasts pushed against his chest; and then she was whispering in his ear and her fingers were brushing against the back of his neck and—

Finally, _finally_, the sedative kicked in and she slumped forward, her body going limp against him. He uttered some choice swear words in Gallifreyan and laid her carefully back on the bed.

Loosening his tie, he scrubbed a hand across his face and back through his already-dishevelled hair.

Thank Rassilon.

He debated whether to tuck her under the covers in the semi-nude state she was currently in, or to try and re-dress her. He decided he was going to get a slap in the morning no matter what he did, so he looked through her chest of drawers and found a pair of her pyjamas.

After he'd got her into them, he shifted her body so that her head was on the pillow and pulled the covers over her.

Brushing a few strands of hair from her eyes, he sat on the edge of the bed for a minute with his hand resting over hers, watching her face as she slept and wondering how much truth there'd been behind her whispered admission that she'd dreamt about doing this with him.

"Oh, Donna... What am I going to do with you, hmm?"

He stood up with a final pat to her hand and moved across to the door, where he paused to look back at her sleeping form.

No more Pan-Galactic Gargle Blasters. And _definitely_ no more Veluusian aphrodisiacs.

He turned out the light and pulled the door to behind him.

Best not to tell her that he—

Well, never mind.


	2. Tea and Tortaalan Toast

**prompt:** _awkward_

**word count: **1642**  
**

follow-up to 'Vanilla and Aldesian Smoke'

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**Tea and Tortaalan Toast**

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Donna woke the next morning with the hangover to end all hangovers. She let out a groan, her head pounding its protest as she focused on what turned out, after a moment, to be her bedside table. On it, there was a glass of water and two aspirin that she was fairly sure she hadn't put there the night before.

She popped the aspirin into her mouth and took a grateful swallow of water to relieve her dry, scratchy throat. Setting the glass back on the table, she rolled over and buried herself beneath the covers for another hour of sleep.

The next time Donna woke she felt significantly better. She still had a bit of a headache, but at least her stomach had stopped doing little flip-flops. In fact, she decided she was hungry.

Flipping back the covers, she swung her feet to the carpet before promptly freezing in place. Hang on. How had she got here? Into her bed, with her pyjamas on? She had no memory of having done either of those things the night before. The last clear memory she _did_ have was of being in a rather crowed, noisy alien pub with the Doctor. But where was the rest of it—what had happened between that and waking up this morning?

Try as she might, the most Donna could recall were a few vague, isolated, unhelpful images here and there. And a rather nice dream involving the Doctor that he _definitely_ never needed to hear about. He had a high enough opinion of himself as it was; imagine how insufferable he'd be if he ever found out she'd had dreams about him that—Well, frankly, they were the sort of dreams no one should have about their best mate.

No, he definitely didn't need to know.

God, she'd drunk enough to make her black out; she hadn't done that in a while. She prayed she hadn't done anything overly embarrassing last night. She had awoken alone, fully clothed, so nothing like _that_ had happened. Thank God. But she knew she could be a bit mouthy when she was drunk.

Her tummy growled, reminding her that she was hungry, but she was suddenly less keen to go out to the kitchen and greet the Doctor than she had been.

Sighing, she pushed her feet into her slippers and tugged her robe off the hook on the back of the door.

* * *

When she got to the kitchen, she found the Doctor spreading marmalade on his toast, his back to her.

She wasn't sure if he'd heard her come in. After a moment she ventured, "Morning."

He gave her a quick glance before turning back to his toast. "Morning, Donna," he said cheerily. "How are we this... ah... morning?"

She wasn't quite sure how to read his cheeriness. "Alright..." She shrugged. "Bit of a headache, I s'pose."

"Hmm," he agreed vaguely. "Like some tea?"

"Yeah, actually." Donna pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. "Thanks."

She waited for him to say something, but the longer she waited, the more she got the impression he was trying to pretend she wasn't there. This wasn't a good sign. Normally he'd be jabbering on about some planet he wanted to visit that day, or boasting about some clever, brilliant... _science-y _thing he'd done with the masses of junk he'd collected that he loved to tinker with in his spare time. Anything, really—so long as he could hear himself talk.

This morning he was oddly subdued, sitting himself down across from her without a word. He passed her her tea with barely a glance.

She sipped at her tea quietly and watched him munch through his breakfast with a particular interest in the plate and the toast in his hand.

Oh, sod it. She was going to just _ask_. This was silly. "Erm... Doctor..."

He looked up from his plate with a mouthful of toast bulging out his cheek.

"Did I... I didn't do anything... wrong, last night, did I? Anything... embarrassing, maybe?"

He stopped chewing at her words, but recovered after a beat. "You don't remember?" he asked, swallowing.

The way he'd paused didn't fill her with reassurance. "If I did, d'you think I'd be asking?"

"No... Well, I s'pose... No."

He took a painfully slow sip of his tea and she raised her eyebrows, still waiting for an answer.

After he'd swallowed, he glanced up and said, "You were pleasant, co-operative and perfectly well-behaved. Sugar?" He pushed the bowl toward her.

Her stomach dropped a bit at that. "Well now I _know_ you're having me on, then," she said in what she hoped was a light tone. "That doesn't even sound like me when I'm _sober_."

"We-e-ll..." He drew the word out, scratching the side of his chin. "When I said _perfectly_ well-behaved, I may've been exaggerating a _bit_, but..."

She hesitated another moment before asking, "What was it, then?"

"Oh..." He sniffed. "Nothing really." He pointed down at his mostly-empty plate. "Toast—would you like some toast? I can put more on," he said in a rush, gesturing back at the toaster. "Good for you, toast, well... Can be not so good; it depends... But this is lovely, very nutritious. Comes from Tortaal—fifty-seven different kinds of grain in one slice; they really know how to make the most of their food, nutrition-wise, the Tortaalans... Bit obsessed with it, actually... Still, not a bad thing to be obsessed with, if you think about it..."

He kept talking, of course, but Donna wasn't really paying him much attention by that point. There was a niggling little suspicion beginning to surface at the back of her mind that maybe not _all_ of that dream had been a dream. Though she _really_ hoped she was wrong...

"Erm... Doctor..."

He stopped in the middle of a detailed explanation of the way in which this particular toast had been made, and looked at her.

A slight heat began to rise in her face and she glanced down at her mug, swirling her tea. "Did I, by any chance..." Oh, just_ say_ it... "Get a bit _too_ friendly, last night?" She raised her head again. "With you?"

He looked back at her like a doe on the motorway. "With me?" he asked, his voice an octave too high.

"Yes." She thought she already had her answer. And she almost wished she didn't.

"Um... Well..." He rubbed a hand up the back of his neck, shifting his gaze across to the fridge. "Depends what you mean by '_too_ friendly', I s'pose."

"Did I try to snog you like a randy teenager," Donna clarified.

"Ah. Well. When you put it that way... You may have been a bit... amorous, last night, yes. Slightly. Well... When I say slightly..."

Donna put her hand over her face and let out a little groan. This was _mortifying_.

She heard him take a sip of his tea.

"Oh, God." She peeked through her fingers, another little detail of her dream (which, by this point, she was beginning to wonder exactly how much of it had actually _been_ a dream) coming back to her. "I didn't... happen to tell you about any dreams I'd had, did I? About... anything?"

He gave a little sniff, the beginning of a grin on his mouth. "You may have." He looked just a bit too chuffed with himself for Donna's liking.

Donna mentally swore and squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want to have to look at that _smug_ little face.

After some of the heat had gone from her cheeks, she raised her head. "When I said that, I wasn't... I mean... Well, I would've said _anything_, wouldn't I, if I were that far gone... I mean... I was _completely _pissed, wasn't I? I didn't..."

"Oh, of course," he agreed quickly, nodding.

"I mean... That's _ridiculous_," she said with a laugh that sounded a bit forced to her ears.

"Mhm, absolutely... Hey! Hang on a minute!" he squawked, suddenly quite affronted. "What's ridiculous?"

"Well, that _I_ would dream about... You know. With _you."_

"What? I—" He stopped dead, his mouth snapping shut. "Never mind."

" 'Never mind' what? You've got names and phone numbers and documented testimony of _loads_ of women who'd bend over backwards to have the chance to shag you?"

"We-e-ll..." he replied offhandedly, an eyebrow quirking and the side of his mouth curling in a smirk.

"Oh, piss off," she scoffed. "Only _daft_ women would want to sleep with you—ones with a thing for scrawny _know-it-alls_ who put more product in their hair than _they_ do. They probably felt sorry for you—_if_ they do exist at all, that is." She took a calm sip of her tea before adding, "You'd never shut up long enough long enough to let a girl get a moan in edgeways. Act of bloody charity, sleeping with you."

He looked as if he were bursting to say something else in his defence, and there was something in that hint of a smirk that wasn't fading that suddenly had Donna worried.

"No. I... Tell me we didn't."

His eyes widened and the smirk fell in a flash. "Nooo, no, no, no, no," he was very quick to assure her with a sharp shake of his head.

"Good. Because I wouldn't. Want to, that is. With you."

"Of course not."

"Good." She nodded firmly.

He gave a little nod as well. "Good."

They sat in a somewhat awkward silence for another few minutes before the Doctor said, "Now that that's settled..." He paused a moment to clear his throat. "Where would you like to go today?"

"Somewhere where they've never even _heard_ of alcohol."

"Sounds like a plan. Ooh, there's a lovely little planet called Bhaltar, just the other side of the Farrykker system..."

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**Author's Note:** And that's the end, there's no more—just in case you thought this was going to be a long story or something. It's not. Just a one-shot and then a sequel. So... the end! Ta-dah!


End file.
